


under pressure

by Eireanne_catches_rye



Series: 90s AU [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: 90s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, F/M, Hostage Situations, Lawyer!Roy, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past EdWin, Period Typical Bigotry, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, and make so many unadvisable decisions, both of them have so much baggage, cause the 90s were just like that, need me that double heaping of dumbass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eireanne_catches_rye/pseuds/Eireanne_catches_rye
Summary: Roy would argue that none of this would have happened if his office hadn't been fumigated.Ed will maintain that none of this would have happened if he just made better life decisions.(RoyEd 90s AU: the one in which Roy feeds a stray, Ed waits out a hostage situation, and together they cause each other so much stress.)
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: 90s AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118369
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	under pressure

I

It’s almost 1:30pm and the kid across the street has smoked his way through at least half a box of cigarettes, bitten his fingernails down to stumps, and downed eight little cups of coffee  _ that Roy has seen. _

And no he isn’t sure if that’s more of a reflection on the kid’s substance abuse issues or his own inability to focus on the paperwork he really needs to get done.

He eyes the clock, and it’s actually past 1:30 now. It’s not like he’s on an especially tight deadline today, which is an upside of working from home. But the downside is that he has absolutely nothing stopping him from putting off working until later.

None of this would have happened if the office building he rented in partnership with Hawkeye hadn’t needed to be fumigated. 

It wasn’t even technically their office, but the office across the hall that did god knows what… Long story short it meant Roy was stuck working from home for at least the next two weeks working through a backlog of legal cases he’s pretty confident will all settle out of court.

To say Roy is bad at getting paperwork done without Hawkeye there to babysit him is unfair and infantilizing. 

But also accurate and inarguable because he’s atrocious at it. 

It would help if the kid by the payphone would stop being so much more interesting. It’s not really the ‘what’ he’s doing—pacing back and forth, smoking like a chimney. He only ever leaves as far as to pop his head briefly into the nearby convenience store to pass over small change and get another cup of coffee. He occasionally pauses to light another cigarette from the seemingly bottomless pack that gets tucked back into the studded leather jacket that sits a little too large on the kid’s narrow frame.

He’s been there for hours now. Roy had barely noticed him when he’d set out for his morning jog, bleary eyed and miserable in the brisk predawn air. When he’d eventually rounded the block on his way back to his apartment building the kid had still been there seated on the stone bench next to the phone booth, huddled into his jacket with his red beanie pulled low over his brow. He’d scowled at Roy the entire way, smoke and steam rising from the shelter of his jacket.

It’s nearing three now. Roy knows this not because of the amount of paperwork he’s managed to get through, but because after he showered (and checked to see if the kid was still there), vacuumed the living room (and just peaked to see if the kid was still there: he was), made a pot of coffee (hey, look the kitchen window overlooked the phone booth the kid happened to be lingering around), he’d gotten hungry and decided to make a lasagna from scratch.

The kid was still there.

Roy hadn’t seen him consume anything except for coffee and nicotine all day.

His eyes go from the baking dish loaded with molten cheese and noodles to the figure huddled into his jacket on the street below. Work is boring and he needs to stop procrastinating and get shit done.

Roy tucks his head back down into his work.

For a moment.

And then he looks back up.

He shouldn’t get involved.

He should absolutely stay in his own lane, he doesn’t know this kid. This kid could be out on the street for a reason.

He really shouldn’t get involved.

Impulsively, he throws open the kitchen window and yells down to the kid before he can stop himself.

“Hey, are you hungry?” The kid starts, damn near jumping out of his skin.

“What?” 

“I made too much lasagna, do you want some?” 

Blond eyebrows are knit together in confusion, but his hand goes to his stomach anyways as if trying to stifle a growl. “I mean, I guess?”

Roy just nods and snaps the window shut. Briefly panics when he realizes what he’s just done, he doesn’t know this kid. He could be waiting for a drug deal to go down for all he knows. 

A moment later he manages to remind himself he’s an adult. And a lawyer.

He shakes a solid quarter of the lasagna into some Tupperware left over from the last time Gracia popped around for a visit, which was fairly often since Elisha had a weekly karate class down the street. 

He stabs a fork into the mess of molten goo and grabs a paper towel while he’s at it.

I

Roy has met people whose lives have been devastated by drug use. Parent’s who’ve had their custody revoked, nervous scabs picked all over their arms and faces. People who got into drugs as teens and look decades older than their peers. Young women abusing diet pills who’ve plucked their eyebrows into non-existence-- bloodshot eyes, looking run down, poor skin and hair quality, just looking unkempt... 

That said he’s 98% sure the kid is clean.

Up close the kid is clearly exhausted with dark circles under eyes like the brightest pools of liquid gold that shoot up to his face in anticipation as he accepts the Tupperware. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are flushed pink, but his skin is clear and a healthy shade of gold. Roy spots chipped black nail polish when he reaches to catch the napkin he’d forgotten he’d grabbed before it could flutter to the ground.  _ Good reflexes. _ He noted.

“Thanks,” he squints up at him, and the tiny gold hoop in his nose glints as it jumps, making him look more cute than tough. He doesn’t hesitate to shove a forkful of food into his mouth, hunger clearly beating suspicion for the time being. Those clear eyes sneak a glance up at him while he chews.

“Aren’t you the jogger from earlier?” He swallows, and Roy nods. “Who gets up that early?”

“You were out here before I was.” Roy points out, he doesn’t point out that it’s also January and below freezing. 

“Waiting on a ransom call.” The kid deadpans, but there’s something behind his facial expression that feels like he isn’t joking. “I’m not out here cause I hate myself.”

Roy isn’t sure what to say to that so he just nods, and subtly gives the kid another once over. His hair is long and shockingly blond against all the black and Roy can’t help but wonder if the blond is trying to emulate Kurt Cobain or not, with the leather jacket, faded knit sweater, and the flannel tied around his hips.

“I’m Ed.” The offered hand is strong and calloused under his own, and Roy’s mind is trying to infer whatever he can from these tiny clues.  _ Gymnast? Musician? Cat-burglar? _ But instead what he says is:

“Roy.”

“ _ Roy _ ,” and somehow on Ed’s tongue Roy’s name sounds richer, like ambrosia on his lips. Roy swallows.

“Mustang. Roy, Mustang.” He supplies, and the kid--  _ Ed _ , he prompts himself, cracks a wide shit-eating grin.

“That is one hell of a name.” Roy returns the smile genuinely.

“So I’ve been told.”

“What does one do with a name like that?”

“Law. Civil Rights to specify.”

“For real? That’s badass.” Somehow Ed had managed to plow through the rest of the tupperware, and had freed his hands to pull his lighter from his pocket. “So you’re a chronic do-gooder then?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“So I’ve been told.” He said again, taking back the plastic container. “Really just not a fan of bullies in positions of power making life harder for the rest of us.”

Ed tilts his head and looks at him, considering him. “Elric. Edward Elric.”

And Roy can’t help but feel like he’s just been trusted with something very important but he isn’t sure why. 

Yet.

“Well, Ed, if you need to get out of the cold,” and fuck is Roy stupid or what here. “I’m in apartment 303.” He says and he’s already backing away in the direction of his apartment complex, and jerks his thumb towards the buzzers by the door.

“Just,” c’mon big lawyer brain, make words go. “think about it.”

Ed nods at him and lights up another cigarette looking considerably less agitated than he had every other time he’d lit up, he let out a long slow drag. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

And with that Roy spins on his heel and returns to his apartment with greasy tupperware in hand, and a renewed ability to sit and focus on his cases.

I

The pay phone finally sparks to life just past 1 am, and Ed has the receiver to his ear before it can ring a second time.

_ “Still there?” _

And Ed doesn’t have anything to say to that. But the shaky breath that comes out of him seems to be reply enough.

“ _ Good.” _ The line goes dead. And Ed stands there with the receiver still buzzing in his ear for a long time after.

I

The knock on his door comes late in the evening and Ed is there looking so very, very tired.

Roy doesn’t say anything just holds the door open and lets the kid into the apartment, 

He eats three plates of lasagna and falls asleep on the couch curled into the arm rest.

Roy wonders if he’s making a mistake as he lays in bed that night. This kid could rob him blind, slit his throat and light his apartment on fire. He really doesn’t know anything about the guy, he’s just rolling with a gut feeling.

He does wake up in the morning, throat fully intact. 

The kid is gone, as are the bananas, saltines, rest of the lasagna and can of coke that had been in his fridge since the last time he’d fancied a rum and coke three weeks ago.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos fuel my drive to post weekly updates, next update will hopefully be next weekend. please let me know what you think, just knowing people are actually reading this stuff helps me feel like I'm not just wasting my time writing silly stories.


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